Lonely This Christmas
by theHuntgoeson
Summary: It's Christmas Eve, 1983, and Gene's heart is breaking, but help may be at hand...


**A/N:I don't own Ashes to Ashes, but I want Gene for Christmas!**

**"Lonely This Christmas" was written and produced by Nicky Chinn and Mike Chapman, and was performed by Mud. "Merry Christmas Everybody" was written by Noddy Holder and Jim Lea, and was performed by Slade.**

**This year, I've managed to produce a Christmas fic (it isn't a songfic, though at the beginning it looks as though it's going to be one). I started it last year but ran into difficulties with it and put it aside. I picked it up again this month, and this time the muse has proved more co-operative. I hope you all like it - any reviews would be like Christmas presents to me!**

**A merry Christmas and a happy, healthy, wealthy, Ashy 2012 to all my readers.**

**This story is dedicated to my late father, without whom my mother and I will be lonely this Christmas.**

_Try and imagine  
>A house that's not a home<br>Try to imagine  
>A Christmas all alone<br>That's where I'll be  
>Since you left me<br>My tears will melt the snow  
>What can I do<br>Without you, I got no place to go_

_It'll be lonely this Christmas  
>Without you to hold<br>It'll be lonely this Christmas  
>Lonely and cold<br>It'll be cold, so cold  
>Without you to hold<br>This Christmas..._

"Wacko Jacko! Turn that shitting music off, or I'll toast your baguette!"

"Right away, Monsieur Hunt."

Jacques, the proprietor of what was now Frère Jacques's Bistro, was a small, thin, nervous man with thin, nervous moustache to match, who profoundly wished that he had made more inquiries about the regular clientele before he bought the restaurant. He changed the tape to one of French Christmas carols, which fortunately appeared not to irritate his volatile customer, and cowered behind the bar.

It was late on Christmas Eve, and Gene was the only member of CID still in the restaurant. Everyone else had gone off on a pub crawl or home to their families. But Gene had no desire for companionship, and only a dark, echoing, empty home to go to, and so he stayed.

He reached for the bottle and poured himself another slug of house rubbish, but he knew that it would make no difference. However much he drank, all he would ever be able to see was _her_, her lovely face bathed in tears, her lips pinched together to stop herself from breaking down, at the moment when he ordered her into the Railway Arms.

It was ridiculous, of course. She would have been fine as soon as she got inside. All the Sauvignon Blanc from the South Island of New Zealand that she could drink, all the warmth, sweetness, peace and safety of the great tavern at the end of the world. She would have everything she needed.

Why did he still remember? Before, he had always been able to forget quickly enough how his charges had left him. So why did the departures of those he loved continue to haunt him now? It would be four weeks tomorrow, for God's sake. Usually he forgot far sooner than that.

"Menu de Samedi 24 Decembre" the blackboard beside the bar announced.

_Sam._

"Bonne Année!" the banner over the bar proclaimed.

_Annie._

"Merry Christmas!" said the gold streamer over the entrance.

_Chris._

"Carling Black Label" was emblazoned across his beer mat.

_Ray._

"Waiter!" the posh berk at the next table called out. "A bottle of Bollinger, if you'd be so good."

_Bolly. Bolly. Bolly._

God, how much longer could he go on like this? He had to pull himself together. But how could he, when all he could see was the tears rolling down her face?

The man who had just walked into the restaurant stood in the shadows by the door for a moment, contemplating the ruin in front of him. The great, invincible Manc Lion looked aged, exhausted, shattered. To those who had known him in the days of his glory, it was a pitiable sight. The newcomer determinedly stepped forward.

"Guv! Any chance you could share?"

Gene looked up, and his brow darkened as DI Mike Gabriel flopped into the seat beside him, looking and sounding chirpier than anyone had a right to be on Christmas Eve. At least the cheeky bastard had enough sense not to sit in the chair opposite. The chair that had been Alex's. Nobody had dared to sit there since her departure.

"Piss off," he growled.

"I'll take that as a yes, then." Mike grinned, helped himself to a glass from a neighbouring table, and poured himself some wine. "I left it too late," he explained. "Just after licensing hours. Jacques won't sell me any alcohol."

"Which part of P-I-double-S O-double-F don't you bloody understand?" Gene snarled.

"I understand all of it," Mike admitted.

"_Then why are you still 'ere?_"

"It's Christmas, and you're alone," Mike said more gently. "To me, that's reason enough. I'm alone here, too, far away from a place I love."

Gene relaxed a little, recognising the fellow feeling of another being, utterly lonely and adrift in this purgatorial world. More than that, since the departure of Alex and the others, the only thing that had kept him going had been the need to develop his new recruit. He had to admit that once the kid had stopped moaning about something called an iPhone, he'd proved to be a bloody good officer as well as a haemorrhoid-sized pain in the arse. Gene could respect the former while regretting the latter. His expression did not change, but he pushed the bottle a couple of millimetres towards Mike in a gesture of conciliation.

Mike smiled. "Thanks, Guv." He took a sip of wine. "Damn, I nearly forgot why I came here in the first place. You left your wallet in your office. Thought I'd better bring it over to you before you tried to pay Jacques and found you were penniless."

Gene scowled. How the hell could he have been so careless? He knew the answer, of course. Since Alex had gone, he had been all over the place. He knew that the team were saying behind his back, that he hadn't been the same since Drake left.

Mike produced the wallet from his inside pocket and tossed it onto the table in front of Gene. It fell open, revealing a photograph of Alex.

"Wow, she's a looker!" Mike said admiringly. "Who is she?"

Gene snatched the wallet away, desperately embarrassed. He had put that picture in his wallet in a moment of weakness, shortly after she joined the team. He remembered now, it had been after he rescued her from the cold store. He had told himself that it was a soft, poofy thing to do, but once it was there, he had been unable to bring himself to remove it.

"Your predecessor," he growled. "DI Drake. Bloody good copper, even though she was dafter than a bakery full of fruitcakes. Pain in the arse, mind, just like you, but better than you'll ever be. Bloody infuriating, headstrong, disobedient, determined pair of stockings. Best copper and bravest woman I've ever known."

"I've heard the others talking about her," Mike sounded thoughtful. "Was she all alone here, like me?"

Gene shrugged and helped himself to more wine. "Didn't 'ave any family we knew of, 'cept a daughter a long way away. Or any friends outside the team."

"Was she your girlfriend?" Mike said interestedly. "Pardon me for asking," he added, seeing the glint in Gene's eye. "But if you keep her picture there, I thought she must mean something to you."

Gene shook his head. "No. Never got that far."

"And did she feel the same about you?"

It would have been simpler to say no, but Gene owed her the truth. "She never said, not in so many words. But, yeah, I think she did."

"And she _left_ you?" The boy could not hide his disdain.

Gene twitched, as though from a pain of an old wound. "No. She had to move on. It was 'er time. Everyone 'ere has to leave, sooner or later. Just as you will one day, Sonny. You'll see."

Mike raised his eyebrows. "Did you want her to stay?"

Gene seemed to be turned to stone. "DI Drake worked for me. DI Drake left. End of. Bugger off."

"Did she want to go?" Mike persisted.

Gene shook his head, overwhelmed with pain. "No. She wanted to stay. But I couldn't let 'er. Doesn't matter. She's fine where she is."

"Are you so sure?" Mike looked at him very intently.

" 'Course I am!" Gene roared. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jacques flinch behind the bar. "Shut it or you'll be on paperwork for the next six months." He closed his eyes in pain, and opened them again. When would he stop seeing her tears?

Mike set his glass down. "So. A beautiful, loving, vulnerable, lonely woman. She offered you her love. You were all she had. And you _rejected_ her, Guv. You dismissed her and abandoned her. To loss and loneliness and pain. And you dare to say that she's fine?"

Gene jumped to his feet with a roar of agony, his fist clenched, towering over his seated DI. Jacques tottered forward, shaking. "Messieurs, please! Not in here!"

Gene nodded, his jaw set so tight that he could barely move it to speak. "Outside. Now. _Now_."

Mike nodded in return, threw some money onto the table, and followed him up the stairs. No sooner had they both reached ground level, than Gene struck him across the face, seized him by his lapels and shoved him up against the railings.

"Listen up, sunshine. If you ever so much as whisper DI Drake's name again, I'll get Jacko to fry your liver with bacon an' onions on the side."

He expected his DI to nod submissively, but Mike waited a few seconds, inhaled deeply, and let his chest expand. The force of it was greater than anything Gene had ever known. It threw him off as effortlessly as an autumn leaf. He stumbled backwards, looking up at the younger man, standing there in all his glorious youth and strength, with the lamplight shining down on his curly fair hair like a halo and a golden aura radiating from him like fire.

"_S - sir?_"

Mike smiled. "Evening, Gene. I've been wondering how long it would take you to suss my cunning disguise. I never imagined I'd last for four weeks. I thought my name would be the clue that you couldn't miss."

"Michael Gabriel. Oh, _shit_."

Michael laughed. It was a golden sound. "Not quite that bad, I hope."

Gene hung his head with uncharacteristic humility, seeming to shrink in the face of the brightness before him. "Sorry I hit you, Sir."

Michael smiled. "Apology accepted. Think nothing of it."

Gene dared to look up. "But why are you here, Sir?"

"Because sometimes even a guardian angel needs his own guardian angel, Gene." Michael's voice was as warm and caressing as the west wind. "And because there's someone else who needs her guardian angel too."

Gene could not reply.

"You've been here a long time, and you're set in your ways," Michael said gently. He put his arm around Gene's shoulders and walked him slowly away from the restaurant and the station. "That's understandable. It made you believe that every soul sent to you had to be treated in the same way. Get them to deal with their issues, make them the coppers they should have been, and send them on to their reward. What you didn't realise, after you remembered everything, was that when you fell in love with her, and she with you, it changed the rules. It made you responsible for her happiness, not only here, but in the next world. You stuck to the old ground plan, even though it didn't apply any longer."

Gene looked at the pavement. "Thought I was doing the right thing, Sir," he muttered. "She couldn't stay 'ere, once she knew the truth about this world. Could she?" He looked up at Michael. "Could she?"

Michael shook his head. "Gene, Gene. That was your decision, and it was the wrong one. You sent her away, and now she can't come back. You know as well as I do, that nobody can ever leave the pub. You made a grave mistake in dismissing her."

"She'd dealt with all 'er issues," Gene said defensively. "She'd found out the truth about 'er parents an' come to terms with it."

"But you and she hadn't come to terms with what you feel for each other. Have you not considered," Michael said gently, "that the reason you cannot forget how you lost her, cannot forget her grief and pain, is because you and she are so closely connected? You're tied tighter than either of you know. Poor Martin Summers worked that out, long ago. The two of you should never be apart. You are lonely, wretched and miserable here, not only because you miss her, but because you are experiencing all the despair she feels, imprisoned inside the pub. You reneged on your responsibilities to her, Gene, and she's paying the price for that. So are you."

"_Bolly…_" Gene whispered. "But she's in Heaven, Sir. Better than being in a crummy station, dealing with the worst shit the scum of the earth can throw at 'er. An' she's in the one place where Keats can never get at 'er."

Michael reached into his pocket. "Guess what? I've found my iPhone." He produced something which looked to Gene like a very small pocket television, although he had no idea how it was powered. Anything less like a phone was hard to imagine. "Let's take a look, shall we?" Michael pressed a button, and the screen lit up. He put the iPhone into Gene's hand, and Gene saw with wonderment that the screen showed the interior of the Railway Arms, just as he remembered it from his days in Manchester. It was hung with decorations, and a Christmas party was in full swing. He smiled slightly. At least they were all happy in there.

The image panned to show a dark corner of the bar, where a solitary figure sat at a table with an empty chair opposite her. Her hands were folded in front of her and her head was bowed. Nelson approached the table, carrying a tray with a bottle and a glass.

"Merry Christmas, Alex!" He set the bottle in front of her.

"Take it away, Nelson." She did not look up.

"But it's the very finest Sauvignon Blanc from the South Island of New Zealand. Your favourite."

"Take it away." Her voice was harsh with unshed tears. "I don't want it."

Nelson put the tray down. "What _do_ you want, then? This is Heaven, Alex. You can have whatever you want. We've done everything we can to make you feel at home. Your room's been done up as an exact duplicate of your flat with all the contents, just as you asked. Your dressing table has a constant supply of makeup and perfume. You can have whatever you want to eat and drink, books, music, a computer if you like, anything - "

"You know that you can't get me what I want," Alex said bitterly.

"I know. I'm sorry." Nelson made to sit in the chair opposite, but she held out her hand.

"_Not_ there!"

Nelson nodded his understanding and drew up a vacant stool to sit beside her.

"I can't even want Molly, now." Her voice was rough with grief. "I can't tell you how much that hurts. But that would mean wanting her to die, and I can't do that. I _know_ it'll be a long time before I meet her again. When I do, she won't be my baby any more." A tear rolled down her cheek. "I hope she'll have babies of her own, if that's what she wants from her life. I want her to have the best possible life, and I want it to be long and happy. I know that's something you can't promise me."

Nelson nodded sympathetically. "At least you can see how she's getting on."

"Yes." She smiled sadly and picked up a small gadget, similar to Michael's iPhone, from the table. "Thanks for bringing me my iPod Touch. It lets me watch her, whenever I like. At least I know that she's getting on with her life. She'll be fine, just as - as Gene said." She paused, trying to control her emotion, then bravely went on, "It's tough for her, just as it was for me after my parents died, but she has Evan and Pete behind her, and that counts for so much."

"But not Judy," Nelson said quietly.

"No." Alex looked absurdly proud. "When Judy found that she and Pete would have to take Molly on, she didn't want to know, and Pete told her where to go. I'm proud of him. It would have been easier for him to choose her and leave Molly to Evan, but he didn't. And I'm glad that he's met Ellen. She's good for him, and I think Molly likes her. Life goes on."

"She likes that Danish TV series, doesn't she?"

"_The Killing_? Yes." Alex smiled. "She says that watching Sarah Lund makes her think of me. Another female detective."

"Is that why you always wear that jumper?" Nelson said teasingly. "You've worn the same clothes, ever since you came in here. You don't have to, you know that. Your wardrobe's full of clothes from the 1980s and 2008, including a copy of your leather jacket, and you can have more whenever you ask."

"I don't want to wear anything else." Alex's eyes filled with tears. "This is what I was wearing when I was last with Gene. When he sent me in here, and before that, all through our last case, through the showdown with Keats, when we were at the farmhouse, when we danced in my flat to Spandau Ballet. It's the only link I still have to him." She rubbed the sleeve against her cheek as though she were caressing his hand, then looked beseechingly at Nelson. "But why can't I see Gene in my iPod? Why can't I see how he is?"

"Because iPods weren't invented in 1983," Nelson said gently. "It can't send pictures from before it was made. Even here."

Alex pushed the precious gadget aside in frustration. "I don't know how he's doing without us. Whether he's ill or well. How much time has passed with him since he sent me away. Whether he still remembers - " She stopped and wiped the tears away. "Oh, Nelson, there are times when I hate him so much."

"Why?"

"Because he couldn't wait to shove me in here," she said viciously. "I was no use to him any more, so he got rid of me. I know now, any finer feelings I might have awoken in him were just an aberration. Without me to spoil his fun, he can go back to being the same bullshitting bastard he was when Sam first found him. I know he'll have got himself a new car and a new team by now. Probably half a dozen new birds, too. Barmaids with honkers like a pair of Wehrmacht Zeppelins. He doesn't want me any more. I mean nothing to him."

"You really think that?" Nelson regarded her with his bright, disconcerting gaze.

She sighed. "Yes. No. I don't know any more. When he comes in here at last, I'll punch him so hard that he'll fly clean over the bar." She managed a watery grin. "Then I'll pick him up, snog his face off, drag him upstairs by his tie, and shag his brains out." She shook her head. "What am I talking about? He doesn't want me."

"That's where you're wrong," Nelson said gently. "Tell me, Alex, why do you think he sent you in here?"

She shrugged. "To get rid of me?"

"Because he thought that he couldn't keep you with him, once you knew the truth. That the only way he could continue his work, protecting souls and sending them here, is if he doesn't remember. You saw yourself, when you were in the farmhouse, finding out the truth nearly destroyed him. We can't see him, but I can tell you that sending you away has broken his heart, just as it's breaking yours. He _can't_ forget. Because - well, I'll leave him to say it when he gets here at last."

Alex's lip quivered. "B-because he loves me?"

Nelson grinned. "If he doesn't, it's a pretty good imitation. But you know him, Alex. He won't say it if he doesn't have to."

"Not even if he has to," she agreed. "So... he isn't happy?" Nelson shook his head. "All alone?" Nelson nodded. "Oh, my poor Gene, you stupid, stubborn bastard, why can't you sink your pride and come in? You're needed, why aren't you here?"

Nelson put a hand on her shoulder. "Some day, Alex, some day. You know that. In the meantime, there's no reason for both of you to be lonely this Christmas. Drink up and come and join us."

Alex shook her head. "No, thank you, Nelson. It's kind of you, but no. And take that stuff away." She pointed to the bottle. "I want Luigi's house rubbish."

Nelson picked up the tray. "Now, that I can manage. Coming right up." He trotted away.

"I want to be back at Luigi's to drink it," Alex murmured to herself. "I want Gene to drink it with me. I want Gene. I want him. I need him. I need him so much." She swallowed hard, blinked back the tears trickling down her face, folded her hands, and gazed at the door, watching. Waiting.

The iPhone's screen went blank. Gene stood staring at it, unmoving, until Michael gently took it from his hand and pocketed it.

"You see now, what you've done to her," Michael said quietly.

"She's waiting," Gene said softly. "She's keeping a chair for me, just as I've been doing for 'er. She thinks I don't want her any more. Oh, God, Bolly..."

"Shall we walk?"

Gene nodded without speaking. It was not an invitation that he could refuse.

-oO0Oo-

He was accustomed to striding through London as though he owned it, with his faithful minions at his side or at his heels. Now, he felt himself scurrying along beside the powerful being who swept him along in a warm, gentle whirlwind. Michael radiated such a golden glow that at first Gene could not understand why nobody they passed seemed to notice. But then he realised that only he could see Michael's true nature. All that anyone else could see, was a tall, fair-haired young man in a leather jacket. Just as he had, when Michael first came into the station.

They came to rest outside the Railway Arms. He had guessed all along where Michael was taking him, although his heavenly guide had not said a word since they had left Jacko's. The windows shone with their familiar unearthly light, and a holly wreath hung on the door. He could hear the sounds of laughter and gaiety, and music floating from within.

They stood together in the roadway in front of the pub. Where Gene had defeated Keats. Where he had said goodbye to Bolly and the others, and felt his heart break into a thousand pieces as he watched her walk through the door and vanish from his sight.

"Well, Gene." Michael spoke confidently. "You know what you have to do now."

Gene looked at the ground, just as he had done when inviting Alex out on their first date. "But - but I can't, Sir," he whispered.

Michael's beautifully drawn eyebrows arched. "_Can't?_"

Gene dared to look at the door. He was filled with so much longing to go in, that he thought he might collapse with it. She was there, so close. But he pulled himself together.

"Can't leave the team, Sir. Who'll get 'em to the pub, if I'm not with them? Most of 'em struggle to tie their own shoelaces. They need me. An' you know as well as I do, Keats'll come back, sooner or later. He's got to. If I'm not there to protect 'em, they'll be wide open when he tries his tricks on 'em. I lost Viv to 'im, an' that's more than enough. I'm not letting any more coppers go down in the lift."

Michael smiled warmly. "Very commendable, Gene, and very understandable. It's a common failing among you mortals, to consider yourselves to be indispensable. And however much you want to go in there," he nodded towards the pub, "you can't yet accept the idea of anyone else doing your job, taking your place, sitting in your office, commanding your team." Gene stirred impatiently, and Michael knew that he had hit the nail on the head. "But you know that it has to come sooner or later." There was an inexorable note in his voice that Gene dared not disobey, yet he still clung to his duty.

"But - but who'll look after them if I'm not there, Sir?"

Michael smiled again. "I found something else in my pocket, besides my iPhone." He produced a small leather wallet, flipped it open, and showed it to Gene.

"_Metropolitan Police. Rank: DCI. Warrant Number: 32523. Name: Michael Gabriel... _ Oh."

"Yes. _Oh_. You need not worry, Gene," Michael said gently. "Fenchurch East will go on having a guardian angel. The work you so nobly began will continue. The souls there will be protected, and they will all go on to the pub in their own good time. Poirot, Cotsey, Bammo, all their colleagues and all those who follow them. You will see them all, sooner or later. But it's time for you to go to your reward. God knows, you deserve it. And she deserves you."

"No bird deserves the Genie," Gene muttered, but it was a token defiance.

Michael laughed. "This is no time for false modesty. You know that you must always go where you're needed, Gene. So go to her, now."

Gene looked up at his successor for a moment without speaking, then at the ground. He reached into his pocket, and then held out a bunch of keys to Michael, who raised an eyebrow in an unspoken question.

"Keys to the Mercedes, Sir. Car's a bastard, but you might like it better than I do. An' the small one's the key to the desk. There's a bottle of Glenmorangie in the bottom drawer, nearly full."

Michael smiled and took them. "Thank you, Gene. I appreciate that."

Gene looked at the ground again. "There's a Coronation tin in the top drawer. There's something important in it. Will you look after it for me?"

Michael nodded sympathetically. "Of course. I know how much it means to you."

"An' the Artemis file in the filing cabinet - "

"I'll make sure that it's returned to Edgehampton. Now, off you go. You shouldn't keep a lady waiting."

Gene inclined his head in acceptance of his fate, turned, walked a couple of steps, and turned back for one last time. In the lamplight, his weary face seemed transfigured with youth and joy. "Thank you, Sir," he whispered.

"Go."

Even now, he could flinch at that reminder of his cruel dismissal of Alex, but he nodded obediently, turned, walked up to the door, placed his hand upon the handle, and pushed gently. It yielded to his touch. Warmth and laughter issued from within as the door opened. Without hesitating, he stepped inside and let it swing to behind him.

The Christmas party that he had seen in Michael's iPhone was still in full cry, and had become considerably rowdier. As he walked in, he had to dodge a conga snaking past him. Someone reached out drunkenly to pull him into the line, and he batted a hand away. The owner yelped in pain and focussed on the newcomer.

"Bloody 'ell! _Guv_!" Chris braked, letting go of Shaz in front of him. The back half of the conga line piled into him and collapsed into an untidy heap of pissed coppers, and the front half continued without him, gaining momentum until Ray, its leader, fell over a table. For a few seconds, pandemonium reigned, then a sudden silence fell as everyone realised who had arrived. Only the sound of Ray picking himself up from under the table broke the unnatural hush.

Gene glared around the assembly. "Well, what am I, a headmaster walking in on a dorm feast?"

"Guv!" Sam disengaged himself from the line and came forward, arms spread wide in welcome. Gene looked past him and saw Alex sitting in her corner, saw the naked, heartbreaking joy in her face for one brief second before she determinedly wiped it of emotion. She tried to look away from him, but could not. Then Gene found himself engulfed by a tidal wave of coppers, almost climbing over each other to hug him and shake his hand, while the air rang with cries of welcome. Somehow Nelson threaded his way through the throng and tried to push a glass of beer into Gene's hand, but he waved it aside. For once in his afterlife, the booze could wait. He shoved aside anyone who got in his way and bore forward until he stood in front of Alex's table. Another intense silence fell.

She glared at him without rising from her seat. "You bloody took your time."

He glared back. _Two can play at this game, Lady Bols. God, how I've missed arguing with you. _"S'been less than four weeks. Patience is a virtue, Bols. Something you birds 'ave yet to acquire."

"_Patience?_" Her voice was a steam whistle, and some revellers with aching heads winced at the aural impact. "You're a fine one to talk. All those times I've tried to use my psychology to get a confession out of a suspect, and you waded in and reduced them to wallpaper paste!"

"What about the time you trusted Hollis an' I could smell a sewer full of rats from the word go? An' you trusted Battleford - "

She jumped to her feet. "Oh, yes, _trust_. You didn't trust me when I told you I came from the future. Who was right, then? I was. You just can't admit it. You never even apologised for doubting me. You _suspended_ me."

"Even for you, aren't we goin' quite spectacularly off the subject?"

She skirted the table and approached him, glaring at him nose to nose. They could feel each others' warm breath, but neither broke. Yet. "What is the subject, then? You tell me."

"You've been waiting for me. I'm 'ere."

She took a deep breath. "Yes. I've been waiting. It's been all right for you, you bastard. You could dump me in here like a bag of rubbish, go off and forget me, have more recruits, more adventures, a new bloody _car_, and chase criminal scum to your heart's content. The time must have flown by for you. Here, all I've been able to do is to sit here, watching the door and - "

"I didn't." His face was like granite.

"Didn't what?"

"Forget." He dared not say _forget you_, not with countless gossipy, rib-elbowing coppers watching and listening, but he hoped that she would understand. If she wasn't too angry to understand anything.

" - and now you think you can swan back in here and pick up where we left off..." Her voice tailed away. "You didn't?"

"No." If his countenance had been any stonier, he would have been a gargoyle.

"So, why are you here? Why are you here - now?"

"I've brought you a Christmas present."

"Oh?" She radiated scepticism. "What is it?"

"Me."

The gasp from those around him resembled the reaction of the crowd to a save at a Manchester derby. Alex's jaw dropped, and Gene rejoiced in the rare feat of having robbed her of speech.

"What?"

"Don't say you've gone deaf while you've been in 'ere."

Her face softened, and at last she allowed herself to show all her desperate longing. He ached to sweep her into his arms, but pride still held them both back.

"_Gene - _"

"Right. Where's the punch?"

She was nonplussed. "What?"

"First thing when I came in 'ere at last, you were goin' to punch me so 'ard I'd fly clean over the bar."

She gaped. "But - but how can you possibly know I said that?"

"That's an admission, DI Drake."

"Who can have told you?"

He allowed himself a brief grin. "I know people in high places. One of whom sent me 'ere. Where I'm needed. So, where's that punch?"

Alex raised her hand, but it was a half-hearted gesture. They could all see that she had no intention of striking home, yet still she could not bring herself to yield.

"I've got a better idea." Nelson approached and held a sprig of mistletoe above their heads. Alex faltered, and a black-gloved hand shoved her in the back. She lurched forward, and Gene instinctively caught her to save her from falling. Then their lips met at last in the endless kiss for which they had both waited for so long, fingers in hair, hands exploring, and the pub erupted with cheers, applause and whistles. Martin Summers, who had given Alex the push which sent her into Gene's arms, smiled ruefully and disappeared into the throng.

"Well, you were right about the snog," Gene gasped when they had to come up for air at last. "But I'm buggered if I'm going to be dragged anywhere by my tie. Come on." Before she could protest, he picked her up in his arms. Just as he had done when he first carried her into the station, and when he carried her eight-year-old self to safety after they had seen her parents' car explode. She wound her arm around his neck and laid her head blissfully against his shoulder. "Right. Which way's the stairs?"

"But you know this pub," she objected.

"Yeah, but when I was 'ere last it was in Manchester, an' there weren't any upstairs rooms."

"Over there." Nelson pointed helpfully. "The stairway to many mansions."

"Ta." Gene swung round and headed in the direction Nelson had indicated, accompanied by renewed cheers and whistles. The crowd fell back to make way for their Guv and his precious burden.

As they passed the bar, Nelson slipped a small box into Alex's hand. "You may find this useful, Alex."

She looked at it. It was the cassette of _True. _"Thank you, Nelson." She waved to the others as Gene bore her up the stairs and out of sight. "Merry Christmas, everybody!'

"Swell." Nelson addressed the others. "Right, mes braves, let's get on with the party." He put another tape into the sound system, and as they all recognised the tune they began to sing and dance.

_"So here it is, merry Christmas, everybody's having fun,_

_Look to the future now, it's only just begun..."_

-oO0Oo-

Satisfied, Michael pressed a button, and the image vanished from the screen of his iPhone. He looked up at the windows on the upper floor of the pub, and almost at once a light came on in one of them. In its glow, he saw the silhouettes of a man and a woman merging in a kiss and a deep embrace. He smiled and turned away. They had all the time in all the vastness of the universe.

He dialled a number on the iPhone and put it to his ear.

_"Good evening, Michael."_

"Good evening, Sir. I wish to report the success of Operation Hunt."

_"Well done."_

"Thank you, Sir. I'll report back to Fenchurch East straight away."

_"There's no need for that quite yet, is there? It'll be an hour or two before anyone notices that Hunt has gone. Why don't you join us up here for a while? We're having a Christmas party."_

"Thank you, Sir, that's very kind of you. I know how much you enjoy celebrating your Son's birthday. But I think I'd better start my new posting straight away. You never know when DCI Keats might try to sneak back in, and there are always criminal scum lurking around. Maybe some other time."

_"As you wish, DCI Gabriel."_ There was a trace of amusement in the voice. _"Your devotion to duty is very commendable. Just like Hunt's. On your way, then. We'll be in touch soon. Oh, and, Michael - "_

"Yes, Sir?"

_"Merry Christmas, Michael."_

"Thank you, Sir. And the same to you."

He ended the call, pocketed the iPhone, and strolled away, whistling, just as the bells of Southwark Cathedral nearby chimed midnight to ring in Christmas Day.

**The End**


End file.
